Watcher
by catlapmilk
Summary: On a day where there is little warmth from the sun, it is a crow that hunts a fox. Karasu-centric; Karasu/Kurama, also implicit Kurama/Hiei.


**Summary:** Hiei battles on. Kurama watches. From the higher levels of the stadium, so does Karasu. One-sided Karasu/Kurama (read: the premeditation of a depraved homosexual); also, loosely, implicit Hiei/Kurama. Also a bit Karasu-centric considering I do love me my baby.

**Disclaimer:** Characters, events, etc. not mine.

* * *

It takes a minimal amount of perceptiveness to see what he sees at that moment. He'd harbored no real interest in the current match, superficial enough to simply categorize it as reconnaissance in getting the upper hand on their opponents; Toguro was most likely there himself, comfortably watching from his own chosen shadow in the demon coliseum.

His teammate – and at this he scoffs, a rough and scornful noise from the depths of him – is pushed from his mind. _Let him do as he like._ Previous sensations begin to return to him; heady, utterly dizzying. He returns his attentions to the prize of Team Urameshi, just outside the ring. The lithe frame is tense with anticipation. Karasu would like nothing more than to see it tremble. He almost disbelieves his luck in being able to have a turn at decimating the beauty in front of him, should he survive. Glee twists its way into his insides.

When he has half come down from the sudden rush of depraved elation, it happens. He has not given the fight much precedence, but the body moves suddenly; quick, graceful. There is something shouted heatedly, an offer not to encourage the other's opponent; a voice too pretty and soft. Karasu allows his mind to be swallowed by a thick haze; through the fuzzy, faded view he envisions countless ways to break and torture, to make that soft voice cry out for mercy and death. It does not last. He tears his conscience away, something amiss.

The small demon in the ring is in a highly un-ideal situation. Both his teammates express concern. Karasu looks closer, and before he knows it, the one he wants is swallowed up. Fear takes him; desperation.

_Is that how it is?_ He asks darkly. The convolutedly jovial stirrings drain from him and replace themselves with something much crueler. Jealousy pours into him; is washed over with a second wave of utmost hatred. Any creature would willingly spill another's; his own blood, for the attention of that beauty… and yet, he would lay himself at the feet of a small, arrogant fire demon. One who was losing his battle, no less? Karasu decides he must take away the choice. _You are marked, now. _All he would need is a single moment to touch; ensnare. _There will be no escape from me._

He licks at the dryness of his lips, obscured by damning steel. He waits for his precious quarry to betray himself once again. It does not take long.

The beast sinks its fangs into the smaller demon. Karasu stares at the sudden burst of blood, bright and painting the entire arena. Team Urameshi tenses, seized with fear that their Jaganshi is dead. He idly wonders where their leader is, but the question flees as he watches that body ice over with panic… and thaw as quickly. Karasu wants to shrink him into a small treasure, a delicate figure of glass, and crush him in his fist; shards biting into his skin. Reluctantly, he blinks down at the arena. Unsurprisingly, the other is alive, and triumphant.

He watches that mouth move quickly, explaining gently to the – human – imbecile the tact of his teammate. He relays, in layman's terms, the other's victory. He forgets to hide the mirth from his eyes. Karasu must admit that his perceived intelligence of the fire demon rises a few points, yet he finds himself tangled in the thick threads of hate and envy. _I will never allow another part of you to smile again._ The boy's hair is a thick, maddening red. It reminds him of blood, and of vengeance, and of all the heinous things he plans to do – to Toguro, to this beautiful hunted child, to anyone who he sees fit. Karasu feels the long strands of it ghost though his hands.

Thrill swirls in the pit of his stomach. The boy steps into the ring; he is so very fair. With every second he wants this one more. He begins in a skirmish, thick vine versus silvery wire; he is quick and elegant and his limbs seem endless, impossibly long. The whip simply serves as an extension, fingers pale and expertly flanked by two curving, pointed thorns. Karasu wants to break every digit, one by one, bending the knuckle backwards until it snaps. He feels his own thoughts affect him; a wave of adrenaline crashing into his gut.

Something very odd happens then; the whip is raised but misses its opponent – a stout little man, with a high pitched voice, now cackling wildly as he strikes the other down from behind. His eyes shine dangerously in the light, a hint of betrayal that should not be. He cries out in pain from the wound on his back. It is the most perfect noise Karasu has ever heard. His ears relish it; his body craves the sound. He feels another incredible rush, like the jolt of drugs in his veins.

The oafish one chases the boy around the arena, not unlike Karasu, and maybe the entire crowd, quite enjoying the growing desperation from the other. He reveals they're fenced in, and the boy is completely at his mercy. The edges of the arena glint with light from thin, careful cables.

_That's quite the predicament,_ he muses, _but nothing compared to what will happen if you live to face me._

He pulls out a box; preaches to his victim and all the onlookers about this trump card. He opens it up, releasing the spell, age reversal. The fight becomes obscured, a thick fog billowing out and extending to the corners of the arena. Karasu finds this mildly irritating. The rest of the crowd is completely on edge.

Thin bolts of dark lightning begin to crackle; snap at the cloud that hides the match. His annoyance grows when several minutes pass by and nothing more happen. The smoke and the storm do not waver until finally, inside, they can hear one of them pleading for his life. He forces a smirk; patience wound tightly, threatening to wear thin and crack. There is movement from the other side of the arena, so subtle he almost misses it – a sword, like a homing missile, seeking its target.

The battle ends and the mist clears, revealing the lifeless demon on the floor. His skin and size have changed, but not unlike the victor. The boy has transformed into a fox, a legendary bandit.

Karasu chuckles darkly._ I knew there was something special about you._ However, he feels less than he has for the pale hair, for the golden eyes. If there's anything he finds himself drawn to, it's the power. He is giddy and impossibly depraved with the idea of this one fighting with his fabled strength to escape his captivity. _What an effort it will be_, he muses, the boy being declared the winner.

The day only grows more uninteresting by the minute; he is sure that wherever Toguro is, he is thrilled to see that their missing captain finally makes his appearance. Curiously, Karasu finds nothing note-worthy when it comes to the fox and the fire demon. Not once do they look toward one another and their wounds. They barely speak. He feels the edges of his lips curl up, a cruel grin.

Karasu turns slowly on one heel and exits the arena.

* * *

He senses his ki long before he sees the boy; his demon energy is bright, but very cold. It drives him to be ruthless with his opponent, a goblin man; unfortunate, cursed. He glows with twisted amusement, it radiating from him as he dances around the ill-fated demon. His fingers graze a shoulder. _Watch me carefully._ There is the most satisfying noise behind him; the body bursts in a spatter of blood, shards of bone, a yelp of pain. _I will extinguish all hope for you. _The other arm follows after; the fight concludes shortly. Karasu feels a swell of pride, knowing that the boy has taken his strength into consideration. He feels that ki ice over, flicker. Having made his point, he removes himself from the arena.

A mask hides the cruelest smirk that's ever claimed his mouth.

* * *

His teammate's presence is nearly suffocating; Bui obstructs Karasu's fluidity with his own solid existence. He feels him before he quite sees him; huge and hulking. He speaks in a low grunt.

"That one-"

"Yes. I find him quite interesting." Bui does not question him; simply accepts the finality of Karasu's claim.

"He's here."

A light at the end of the tunnel, Karasu feels the chill of the fox's careful aura. He slants his gaze at the other man. The hallway is long and shadowed. "A good of a cage as any, don't you think?"

Slowly, Bui nods.

They proceed down the corridor. Red flashes in the dim light for a split second; his hair is jostled with the rest of him as the boy jerks to a sudden stop. Karasu can feel the spiral of wickedness pooling at the center of him. He fights not to be overcome; not now, not when he is so close, and he will have everything he wants. _It's too easy. You are mine for the taking._ Nothing can hinder him; not Bui, not the little fire demon, not even Toguro.

"You're the only one who watched. Your team must be very confident." He shifts his weight to his other leg, subtle; yet infinitely meaningful in the few centimeters he is able to inch closer.

"Either that, or in denial," he says off-handedly. Karasu gleefully notes the boy's struggle to keep his voice level.

"Yes, accepting the truth would be easier," he sneers, delighting in the idea that he's causing the other's hackles to rise. He aches to kindle the fire of this new, growing fear. "The finals will come and the four of you will die."

His eyes are haunting and beautiful; alight with terror. "Just four?"

"Yes, of course. One of you dies today."

His prey reflects in his eyes, trapped behind violet; alight, with the most promising sadism. A bit of pressure and his fingers dig into his palm, drawing blood and tearing at the wires of hedonism. It surges through him; less a careful current, more a wild spray of high-voltage sparks. Karasu cannot wait to trap him in his hands.


End file.
